


A Cold Christmas

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Christmas AU, M/M, modern setting au, professor/student AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Ben hates going home to his family on Christmas. His parents are fine, but his brother is a menace, and ever since he came out, William has been even worse. After some provocation, he's forced to admit that he has a boyfriend (even though he doesn't) and finds someone willing to play the part.





	A Cold Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts), [grumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/gifts).



For a long while after he arrived, Ben sat in his 2014 Lexus (bought with cash by his father when he graduated undergrad), staring up at the red brick colonial-style house. The decorations were flawless, as usual, but Ben knew his family; their groundskeepers put up the decorations every year, with his mother supervising close by. The tasteful white lights traced the edges of the home and the windows, with a gold and green wreath hanging on the front door. It was enough to be festive without being gauche, though Ben preferred his tiny apartment in New Haven, plastered from wall-to-wall with hand-me-down Christmas decorations, mismatched strands of lights, and hand-cut snowflakes. 

It was nice, seeing the house like this, peaceful and idyllic, but it couldn’t last. It reminded him of his childhood, at least, the sweet, romanticized bits that he liked to think about around Christmas: he and his brother trying to wrap gifts for their parents without getting caught, sneaking some rum into the eggnog, and stealing hors d’oeuvres from the Tallmadge Christmas party, full of his father’s business partners and his mother’s friends from book club and her charity functions. 

Ben glanced down at his clothes (navy blue suit with dark green Christmas tie), and tried to spot any sort of imperfections that his mother would passively point out. She didn’t mean any harm by it, he supposed, but the sting would linger for hours after the comment had been forgotten. He pinched a bit of lint off the tie and brushed it to the floor of his car. 

It was now or never. 

His brother opened the door the moment he knocked, and Ben was allowed one moment of wondering if Will had been waiting for him before he was enveloped in a big hug that squeezed the life out of his lungs. He hugged his brother back weakly, trying to stomp the little bit of snow that gathered on the soles of his shoes on the mat while he did it. 

“Mother, Father, Benjamin is here!” Will shouted. He turned back to his little brother, taking in his appearance in one swift sweep of his hawk-like eyes. “They’re in the parlor.” 

The parlor. Ben wanted to roll his eyes; he had been gone so long, almost nine months, and in that time, he forgot how his family spoke. The parlor, the foyer, mimosas, it was all so…plush. In New Haven, he lived in a two bedroom apartment with three people, ate macaroni and cheese regularly, and hadn’t been able to afford champagne since the last time he stepped into his mom and dad’s (affectionately referred to as Mother and Father) parlor. 

The large, grand hallway was adorned with garlands and cranberry ribbon, with a sprig of mistletoe by the archway that led into the den. Ben surpassed it, trailing after William into the parlor. His mother and father were exactly where he said they’d be, adjusting an ornament just out of his mother’s reach. 

“Oh, Benjamin, it’s been so long,” his mother, dramatic as usual, swept her way into his embrace, dropping a kiss on his cheek, clutching her pearls over the dark gold cowl neck sweater that felt softer than cashmere. “You look too thin, and you need a shave, son,” she admonished lightly, her hand brushing over the stubble just barely coming in on his chin. Self-consciously, Ben ran his hand over it, cursing himself for not remembering his mother’s aversion to facial hair. William’s own jaw was perfectly smooth. 

“Good to see you, son,” his father clapped him on the back, just enough to be affectionate without appearing to show too much emotion. “Have some scotch.” 

Eagerly, Ben accepted the offered glass, knowing that he would need it. It was only a matter of time before –

“So, Benny, how is school?” his brother asked, a gleam in his eye. “All of those history classes getting to be too difficult for you?” 

Ben pursed his lips. It always started like this; his brother would find something to poke at, like a bruise, and prod, and poke until Ben exploded, and his family would scold him, and Ben would leave, vowing to never come back. And yet, he always came back. 

“Not yet, Will,” he replied easily, taking a hearty sip of the scotch.

“I heard you got a paper published,” his father said from behind Will. “In the university press?” 

“Yale University Press,” Ben said with a hint of pride. “Yes, sir.” 

“Let me guess, about the American Revolution again, right?” Will nudged him with an elbow. “Hasn’t everything already been said? It was hundreds of years ago.” 

“Apparently not,” Ben replied, trying to be flippant. 

“So, what are you focusing on that hasn’t been talked about?” His father’s voice floated to Ben over his brother’s shoulder. 

“Well, the paper is about –”

“You know,” Will began, and Ben sighed inwardly, “I’m just so glad you decided not to follow in my footsteps and go to law school.” 

“Me too,” Ben said graciously. 

“I mean, just the other day, my professor kicked out half of the class because they didn’t read the assignment,” his brother continued as Ben let his mind wander. “It must have been humiliating for them, to have their disrespect advertised like that –”

Ben would bet a lot of money that his brother had been one of the students that got kicked out of class. He suppressed a smirk and took another sip of scotch, the single ice cube rattling around in the now-sweating glass.

“Something funny, Benny Boy?” Will asked, his pompous smile frozen on his face. 

“Absolutely nothing is funny, Will,” Ben deadpanned. “Please, tell me more about law school.” 

“Are you making fun of me?” Will asked, his voice just belligerent enough that Ben felt his shoulders rise, but not so blatant that his father picked up on it. 

When he retold this story, he would tell Caleb that he stood up to his brother. “Of course not,” he said, and then, when he couldn’t help himself: “why would I be making fun of you?” 

It was a mistake.

“Listen, I understand your attitude,” Will said with faux-concern, stepping closer to him, lowering his voice so his father couldn’t hear. “If I were the black sheep of the family, I would be constantly overcompensating with smart ass remarks, cheap suits,” he flicked his finger in Ben’s direction. Ben’s free hand adjusted his lapel nervously, and he cursed himself the moment his brother caught the motion. “And whatever it is you do with your free time.” 

He knew what that meant; he and his brother had gotten along just fine until he came out during his second year in college. For some reason, that was an invitation to a life-long competition that Ben could never hope to win; Will was the one that made up the rules and tallied the scores. Ben was stuck following along, like he was now, trying to brace himself for blows he didn’t know he was meant to endure. 

It had been three years since then, and by now, Ben was used to the routine. 

William was like a shark; once he smelled that one of his jabs landed, he would be relentless. “What is that supposed to mean?” Ben hissed, his grip around the scotch glass tightening. 

“Oh, that’s right, I forget, you aren’t conditioned to keep your emotions in check –”

“Like lawyers do, right?” Ben could hear his heartbeat in his ears, thundering so loud he could barely hear his brother’s response. 

Will smirked. “Well of course, Benjamin. As opposed to historians, who spend copious amounts of time alone and have to adjust their behaviors for no one at all.” 

Ben opened his mouth to respond, the insult completely unplanned, before a loud creak interrupted him.

“Benjamin, William, dinner will be ready in an hour,” his mother said from the door between the parlor and the kitchen. She let the door flutter closed, her wine glass newly refilled, and set her eyes on her sons, ready to take part in their conversation.

“Thank you, Mother,” Ben replied, his eyes still on William, who glared at him. “Will was just talking about law school. Tell Mother the story,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He felt, suddenly, like there was a target on his forehead, and his brother had very good aim. 

“I’m sure Mother wouldn’t care to hear that boring story,” Will said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. 

“I’m sure she would,” Ben replied. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that to you,” Will directed to their mother with a charming smile that disappeared when he turned his gaze to Ben. 

“Thank you, son,” his mother said with a light, tinkling laugh. “Benjamin, tell me, do you have any…a…well a boyfriend?” 

Immediately, Ben’s eyes went to his brother, who went from looking completely innocent to looking like he was struggling, mostly unsuccessfully, to suppress a laugh. Suddenly, the heartbeat in his ears was back, though he could never pinpoint when it had subsided, and he felt, with a jolt of terror, like he was going to cry. 

But he would not give William the satisfaction. He took a deep breath and polished off the glass of scotch his father had given him, setting the glass on the table. 

“Actually, I do,” he said, the delivery less than confident. 

“Really?” his mother and brother said in unison, his mother hopeful, his brother incredulous. 

“I don’t believe it,” William said, with just enough innocence that his mother didn’t immediately scold him. “What’s his name?” 

Shit. Ben cast his eyes around the room, looking for something that would give him a fake name. The tree, unfortunately, was a blue spruce, not at all qualified for a name. John? Was that a good enough name? No, it sounded fake. 

He had already been quiet far too long, and William already looked smug again. 

Mercifully, as if God had seen this disaster and chosen to interfere out of the goodness of his heart, his phone started ringing, a loud, embarrassing, honking noise that Caleb had added when Ben wasn’t paying attention. 

“Please, excuse me,” he said, pushing past his brother into the hallway. “Caleb?” 

“Tallboy!” Caleb’s voice and exuberance was so welcome that Ben thought he would weep. “I just wanted to remind you that you gave me very strict instructions to call you at 7 p.m. to give you a break from your toolbag of a big brother.” 

“You are literally a lifesaver,” Ben said quietly into the phone, moving across the hallway into his father’s study. “But listen, I need you to be a lifesaver a little bit more.” 

“What d’ye need? I can come kick that douchebag’s ass if you want to keep yer hands clean,” Caleb replied, his voice getting somehow louder. 

“No, no, I need you to call Nate,” Ben said, moving even farther from the door, just in case. “Tell him to meet me at the old pub downtown in half an hour. He should be in town by now to see his family.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I told my brother that I had a boyfriend, and now he doesn’t believe me,” Ben explained in a rush. “I need Nate to come here, and pretend –”

“And pretend you’re still together?” Caleb finished. “I mean, Tallboy, I can try, but I can’t promise he’ll want to see you.” 

“Just mention William and that should be more than enough,” Ben said, running his hand through his hair anxiously. “Please, Caleb.” 

“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Caleb said soothingly, and Ben could hear his smile. It soothed him. “I would come by and help you out if I could –”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll make it to Virginia in half an hour,” Ben chuckled. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Godspeed, Tallboy,” Caleb said. “Love you.” 

“I love you too,” Ben said softly, listening to Caleb hang up before pulling the phone from his ear. 

“Aww, how sweet,” William’s voice made Ben jump so sharply that he almost dropped his phone. “Was that your boyfriend?” 

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Ben said with a shrug. “Does that bother you?” 

William shrugged. “You and I both know you don’t have a boyfriend, Benny Boy,” he replied. “Because if you did, where is he?” 

Ben was pretty sure he could feel the scotch rising in his throat. “Actually, he’s on his way right now, he got held up. I’m going to go pick him up.” 

“Really?” Will crossed his arms. 

“Really,” Ben said, trying his hardest to be confident. “It was going to be a surprise, but of course, Mother had to ruin it by being too smart.” He chuckled, the sound forced and awkward, and stepped around his brother, back into the parlor. 

“I can’t wait until you come back here alone,” his brother muttered on his way back into the parlor, his shoulder just barely knocking Ben awry. He stood there, just slightly off balance, trying to force back the waves of anger and self-loathing, but found himself mostly unsuccessful. He heaved a breath through his nose, the sting of cold air burning in a way that made him feel slightly more present. 

“Let Mother and Father know I’ll be back in an hour, and to set an extra place,” he said finally, firmly, and barely caught his brother’s surprised gaze before he stormed out the front door, forgoing his coat. 

He regretted it the moment the cold air hit him, burning up his exposed skin like he had been poked with a thousand needles. 

***

George shifted in his lean against the bar, turning his wine glass in his grip. It felt uncomfortable, being in a bar two days before Christmas, but here he was, escaping the confines of his empty home, where the tall ceilings and overstuffed bookshelves made him feel nothing more than hollow. At least here he could listen to other conversations, could even join them if he wanted to. He wouldn’t, but the knowledge that the option was there was comforting. 

He had become spoiled to the conversations he had during the semester. Being a professor of history was just enough isolation and socialization that he never wanted for human contact or silence; he could get them both when he wanted. 

Coming home to the empty house he kept more out of sentimentality than any actual need (he had an apartment in New Haven that he liked perfectly fine) was depressing, and so maudlin that he constantly wondered why he bothered. He didn’t have a Christmas tree in there, all of the presents he had for his colleagues and friends were in his apartment in New Haven; for all intents and purposes, everything was there, not here. 

But Martha’s grave was here, and so was his mother’s, and he never wanted them to be alone during the holidays. 

The bell above the door jingled and George’s eyes naturally rose to the movement, landing on a familiar silhouette. The headlights outside momentarily blinded him, and for a long time, he couldn’t see anything but the cut of a fine suit. Finally, when the shine subsided, he averted his eyes, suddenly aware of the possibility that the newcomer had already seen him looking. To allay any awkwardness, he motioned to the bartender for a refill, turning his shoulders away from the door. 

He let his thoughts carry him away and forgot about the silhouette of the suit for a good forty-five minutes before a familiar voice caught his attention. 

“Nate, pick up the phone,” the voice was saying, desperate and needy. “Please, I need your help.” 

George listened closer, leaning just so towards the speaker, but all he heard was the phone knocking against the bar and a frustrated groan. With a sympathetic sigh, George took a sip of his wine, wincing past the taste he didn’t really care for. He could turn and see just who the speaker was, but what if he knew him? What if he had to talk to him? 

“Nate, if I go back to my house alone, Will is going to be…God, he’s going to be awful, please, just pick up. I know you’re there. Please.” There was a long moment of silence, long enough that George struggled to put a face to the voice. “I know that you hate me, but I wouldn’t call if I didn’t need you, okay?” 

Finally, and so quickly he couldn’t talk himself out of it, George turned toward the voice, and caught sight of the suit he’d seen in the doorway. 

“Mr. Tallmadge?” he asked, and his student (ex-student, he corrected himself) turned toward him, his eyes just wide enough that George believed he hadn’t realized he was sitting two seats away from his former professor. 

“Dr. Washington?” his voice was mortified, and immediately, he was standing, ready to flee in what George assumed was embarrassment. “I uh…I didn’t know you lived here.” 

“I could say the same for you,” George acknowledged. “Why don’t you have a seat?” 

Ben was already sitting, but George patted the stool beside him. Ben stepped forward, ready to obey, but stopped himself. “I – I shouldn’t, I have to get back to my parents’ –”

“Without Nate?” George asked before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry,” he immediately amended when Ben looked even more horrified, “I couldn’t help but overhear –”

“Great,” Ben answered, defeated. “That’s just great.”

He was turning to walk away, his eyes still glancing back at his phone’s display, woefully inactive. George felt sympathy wash over him. He had no family to appease, no responsibilities anymore, but he remembered the toll they could take. Whatever Ben was dealing with, it didn’t sound typical, and it certainly didn’t sound like something George would wish on one of his best students. 

“Benjamin,” he said, just firmly enough that Ben immediately turned around, obeying his professor like it was still the regular semester. “Please, sit,” he said, motioning to the barstool. “Maybe I can help.” 

“You can’t help,” Ben said instantly. “This…this is not something my professor can fix.” 

George shrugged. “I’m your former professor, first of all, you of all people know how important accuracy is in our discipline,” Ben cracked half a smile, and George considered it a win. “But you’ll never know if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” 

The story wasn’t particularly long, but Ben stretched it out by hedging around naming his sexuality for the first fifteen minutes, and by the time he was done, George had already decided what he was going to do. He motioned to the bartender, giving him two fingers, and turned back to Ben. 

“Here’s how we’re going to fix this,” he said softly, ducking his head toward Ben as if he was telling a secret. “First, you’re going to have a quick drink, and since we’re out of time, it’s just going to be a shot. Second, you’re going to take me to your horrifying and awkward Christmas, and everything will be fine.” 

The bartender swooped in long enough to set two shot glasses in front of them, disappearing the moment Ben’s eyes went to him. To say he looked shocked was an understatement; George wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult. 

“I – I can’t ask you to do that,” he stammered, his hand reaching for the shot glass already. George’s hand landed gently on top of his, keeping the glass firmly on the bar. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Benjamin,” he said, “but Nate isn’t coming.” Ben winced, and George momentarily tightened his grip on his hand and pressed on. “Your brother sounds like someone that will make your entire Christmas a disaster if you come back alone. The way I see it, I’m your only option. I’m sure after Christmas you’ll be able to trade up.” 

Ben snorted, actually snorted, and averted his eyes, though what that meant, George couldn’t be sure.

***

“This is your house?” George tried to keep the awe out of his voice, but really, he hadn’t made the connection between Benjamin Tallmadge, the master’s student with a button missing on his favorite blue cardigan, and the Tallmadges, who helped found the entire country and were still reaping the rewards centuries later. 

“My parents’ house,” Ben corrected quietly, stepping out of his car and staring up at it like it was a museum artifact. “You sure you want to do this?” 

George held out his hand and let Ben thread his fingers through them. “You’re sure you still want to admit I was your teacher?” 

Ben pursed his lips and nodded. “Yep.”

He pulled him up to the door, his hand just slightly unsteady in George’s grip. “Am I going to get punched in the face for this?” 

Ben shrugged and knocked, turning back to George while they waited for the door to open. “Thank you for this,” he said softly. 

“Don’t get too excited, Benjamin, you still got a B in my class.” 

“What?” his voice was a yelp, and the door swung open immediately after, saving George from having to respond. In the doorway was a man that looked much like Ben, but with darker hair, and eyes that erred closer to green. 

“William Tallmadge,” he immediately offered his left hand to George to shake, forcing him to release Ben’s hand to do it. The handshake was just a hair tighter than a typically firm handshake, but George was too focused on the way William’s eyes went back to his brother. He could practically feel Ben cowering under the weight of his gaze. 

“George Washington,” he said firmly, “pleasure to finally meet you, William.” 

“Of course, come in,” William stepped aside, and George stepped through first, Ben following close behind. “Mother and Father are in the dining room, Benjamin, dinner is on the table.” 

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Ben and George alone again. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” George said quietly, “but isn’t your brother –”

“Harvard Law Review, yes, thanks,” Ben muttered, his hands running over his lapels over and over again. George watched the repetitive movement with something that felt like sympathy and understanding. It was almost refreshing to see Ben differently than he was in the classroom, but it hurt him to know that this, the place where he should feel the most comfortable, was where he felt the most anxious. 

“I was going to say that your brother is an immense tool,” George corrected, taking both of Ben’s hands in his own and forcing him to stop fidgeting; Ben clenched his fingers around George’s hand. “It’s going to be fine,” he said, trying to be soothing, letting his deep voice drop to almost a whisper. “If you feel nervous, just take my hand, okay?” 

Ben nodded, his tight grip on George’s hands loosening. 

The dining room was just as large and intimidating as the foyer, with an ornate china cabinet in the back of the room and what looked like a caterer in the corner with a bottle of wine, waiting to refill any glass that dipped below half-full. Ben’s father stood the moment they entered the room, extending his hand to George with a confident smile. This handshake was firm and friendly. 

“Benjamin Tallmadge, Sr,” he said as a greeting. 

“Dr. George Washington,” George responded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Doctor?” Ben’s mother stood, her hand extended, limp-wristed. “What kind of doctor?” 

“Professor of history,” George replied, just barely taking her hand and calling it a handshake. Ben directed him to a seat beside his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tallmadge.” 

“Please, call me Susannah,” Ben’s mother said with a smile. “My, you are handsome, aren’t you?” 

“I like to think so,” Ben finally spoke, his voice just slightly shaky. Under the table, George reached for his hand, landing on his thigh. He squeezed, just for a moment, and released him, unwilling to make him uncomfortable. But as he moved away, Ben’s hand caught his and put it back on his thigh. 

“So, Dr. Washington,” Will’s voice was just slightly louder than was called for at a family dinner, “were you Ben’s professor, or –?”

“Yep,” Ben said sharply, unapologetically. George turned toward him, just slightly, enough to see that Ben’s hand was clenched tightly around his fork. But Ben’s eyes were locked on to his brother, his cheeks just slightly red. “Is that an issue, Will?” 

“Well...” Will said quietly as he took a bite of food, something that looked like duck. “It’s a little unprofessional.” 

“What?” Ben asked loudly. 

“Boys, that’s enough,” Susannah smiled apologetically at George. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner.” 

They sat in silence for a while, eating quietly, until Will finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I just realized that we never heard how Ben and Dr. Washington met. Ben, would you like to tell us the story?” 

Ben, who had just relaxed, tensed again. 

“Actually,” George interrupted. “I’m much better at telling the story. If you don’t mind, Benjamin?” 

“Of course not, si – George,” Ben stammered, reaching for his wine to cover his blush. 

“Ben was in my research and methodologies class this semester,” George began, offering Ben his hand to take on top of the table. Ben obliged him, sliding his hand into his grip, his thumb brushing over George’s knuckles. “And the moment he walked in, I knew he was going to be insufferable. And he was.” 

Susannah laughed, completely enthralled. Will rolled his eyes. 

“Your son,” George directed at Ben’s mother, “would come to my office hours every day, asking questions about the assignments, bringing me insights about the assigned reading, arguing with me about my own views, he was easily the most engaged student in the class, and trust me when I say seeing a student love his subject so much is intoxicating,” George turned to Ben, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “I made sure to wait until the end of the semester to ask Ben to dinner, and my life has been intoxicating ever since.” 

“What a sweet story,” Susannah breathed, reaching for her wine. “George, you are such a romantic.” 

“I try to be, if only to make sure your son is treated the way he should be treated.” 

Ben squeezed his hand and George glanced over at him, shrugging when Ben’s surprised gaze met his own. 

***

Dinner was, luckily, a dull affair after that, and Ben was just beginning to hope that the evening would end well when William, three drinks deep, finally spoke again, this time when their mother and father were in the other room. 

“So, Benny Boy, I never thought I’d say this, but I always thought that in the uhh, well, in the bedroom, that you’d at least always be a top. Guess you can’t win ‘em all, huh champ?” He chuckled, the sound of his laugh magnified by the glass of eggnog he was drinking, and Ben felt his face flush a deep, dark red. “I mean, look at him,” he motioned to George, who furrowed his brows, trying to figure out if that was a compliment or an insult. 

“I think you’re underestimating the benefits of, well, what do straight people call it?” George turned to Ben, who was pretty sure his face was on fire, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, you might call it switch-hitting. It’s very rewarding to play both roles, isn’t it, my darling?” his hand snaked around Ben’s hip and pulled him flush against his side. “Besides, your brother is truly spectacular,” he said like it was a secret, “very flexible,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, thank you, honey, that’s enough,” Ben said, hiding his face in his hands. 

“I’ll say,” William replied, looking supremely uncomfortable. When no one replied, he stalked away, probably looking for more eggnog. 

“I’m so sorry,” George said immediately, releasing Ben’s hip. “I just…I didn’t know what to say. I figured if I made him uncomfortable, he’d stop –”

“It’s okay,” Ben waved off his protestations, trying to hide his smile. “I don’t think anyone has shut Will up more effectively since we were kids.” He glanced up at George, batting his eyes. “Besides, I am pretty flexible.” 

George choked on his eggnog, Ben’s laughter filling the parlor. 

***

Something in the night shifted after that, after Ben had a glass or two of eggnog. His tense shoulders loosened up, and he allowed himself to laugh. George knew that his purpose, his role here was to upset William, to protect Ben from his brother’s wrath, but the more Ben relaxed, the more open and charming he was, and the more George couldn’t tear himself from his side. 

“I took Arnold for Imperial British History,” he was saying, sitting on the couch in the den, his legs tossed haphazardly over George’s lap. “And I don’t think I’ve ever learned less. He made us read the book he wrote for class. I have never read a more hackneyed, biased, load of crap –”

“He got tenure and just started inflating his ego,” George agreed, his hand landing on Ben’s knee. “His research kind of went down the toilet after that.” 

“You know, I really enjoyed your class,” Ben said. “I mean, it was the most difficult class I’ve ever taken, and I still didn’t get an A, but I learned a lot, and you were always willing to help me.” 

“Of course I was, Benjamin,” George answered with a shrug. “I don’t imagine many people turn down those gorgeous blue eyes, do they?” 

Ben dropped his gaze to his knee, where George’s hand was still on his knee. “That stuff that you said at dinner –” he began, not sure how he would end the sentence. 

“I meant it,” George answered easily. “I figured sincerity would work best with that crowd.” 

Ben stared at him for a long time, as if trying to find some falsehood in his face. George met his gaze for a while, before the silence stretched too long and he looked down at his hand on Ben’s knee. “You know,” George said, “We don’t have to do – this –” he motioned to Ben’s legs over his lap, “your family is in the other room.” 

“I have a question,” Ben asked. 

Immediately, George fixed his eyes on him again. “Ask it.” 

“Do I have to take you as a professor again after this semester?” he asked. 

“All you have left is your thesis and oral defense, so no, you don’t have to,” George reasoned. “Why?” 

“Good,” Ben breathed, pulling George over to him. His lips tasted like cinnamon and just a hint of rum, but they were soft and warm and ardent, and George found himself powerless to stop him. He allowed Ben to pull him even closer, so George was halfway on top of him, and shifted his legs to George was easily between them. 

It truly was soft and comforting while at the same time electrifying, and George had to yank himself away when the door to the den creaked open. 

“Oh come on,” Will’s voice was a little more slurred, just enough to be funny. “Couldn’t you two keep your hands off each other for one night?” 

“Nope,” Ben shrugged unapologetically. “Could you say goodbye to Mother and Father for me?” he asked. “George and I have somewhere to be.” 

***

George had to drive Ben’s car to his house, far out in the country. The sounds of the city were long forgotten, the snow blending into a landscape painting. They lingered in the car for just a moment before Ben’s hand landed on George’s thigh and he jolted out of the car, trying his best to stay focused. 

“I can give you the tour,” he said softly, standing close to Ben in the dark entry. 

“Give it to me after,” Ben said, reaching for George’s hand and squeezing it tightly. George groaned. He had used the word “intoxicating” at dinner, and he hadn’t been exaggerating, but it seemed like the version he’d seen of Ben in class was nothing compared to this one. This wasn’t just intoxicating; it was addicting. 

“The bedroom is upstairs,” George whispered into Ben’s neck. “Follow me.” 

It felt like a painfully long walk with Ben’s hand in his own, stroking his fingers and running his thumb over George’s knuckles. Finally, George pushed open the door to the bedroom and let Ben pull him inside, his lips finally finding his own again. 

He didn’t taste like rum anymore, but something more elusive and more definitively him, and it eased George’s mind that Ben was probably not anywhere close to drunk anymore. Ben pushed George onto the bed, allowing him time to kick off his shoes and get comfortable on the pillows before he climbed up after him, straddling him. George pushed his jacket off Ben’s shoulders, relishing in the way Ben’s eyes slid closed at the feel of his hands on his back. George pulled Ben back down to him by his neck, kissing him as firmly as he dared, his other hand reaching for Ben’s tie. 

Ben’s own hands immediately found George’s belt, and George’s hands fell limp to his sides at the feeling of Ben’s hands, warm and soft. His nimble fingers worked fast, undoing George’s belt and pants faster than George could register it. 

George’s hands caught his wrist before he could do anything more. “There’s no rush,” George said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

He pushed Ben over so he could climb over him this time, Ben’s wrist still pinned above him. George kissed him again, maddeningly slowly, and felt Ben’s impatience. The younger man nipped at George’s lips. 

“Tsk tsk Benjamin,” George said with a smirk, relishing in the way Ben groaned at the sound of his full name. He released Ben’s hands and let him start working on George’s tie and shirt while George kissed the underside of his jaw, his neck, the soft spot near his ear. 

It wasn’t long before Ben and George lost their shirts and ties, and George was free to kiss down Ben’s chest, loving the way Ben’s hands fisted in his hair, his other tight on the sheets. Softly, playfully, George kissed his hand, and Ben relaxed, letting the hand come to rest on George’s cheek. 

“My turn,” Ben whispered, wiggling out from under George and settling himself between George’s legs. He kissed down George’s chest, his hands tracing and relishing in every sinew and muscle in George’s arms. He waited for George to stop him as he got to his waistband, but when he looked up, George’s eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. 

With a wicked grin, Ben pressed his lips to the bulge in George’s almost undone pants. The man hissed, his hand suddenly coming to life and settling at the back of Ben’s head. Ben grinned and slowly unzipped George’s slacks, slipping them down his thighs so he could kiss every part of him. 

George growled, a filthy, teasing sound that spurred Ben on, but he paused, his grin still firmly in place. 

“I think we should take that tour now,” he said. 

George laughed, covering his face with his hand. “You insufferable –”

Ben’s laughter filled the room, and George’s hand reached for his own. “I thought you said there was no rush,” Ben objected with a laugh. “There’s pleasure in prolonging, right?” 

George laughed more, sliding his pants back up and zipping them but not buttoning them. “I’ll tell you what, I will give you a tour if and only if we get to have a little fun in each room.” 

“Deal,” Ben said, holding out his hand for George to take.


End file.
